Past Winds and Current Storms
by Ramzes
Summary: Rhaelle Targaryen and Jaime Lannister, some time after Robert's coronation: a drabble. A sequel to Ride the Storm.


**Past Winds and Current Storms**

Rhaelle's first meeting with Cersei Lannister left her deeply disturbed in a way she had not been since over thirty years ago, when Steffon had introduced his new friend to her. This one had also been a Lannister. The liking had been immediate and the disliking had taken shape before the first meeting was over. Just like thirty years ago, the next occasions when she met Lady Cersei only confirmed her infavourable impression. Rhaelle did not mind some haughtiness – the Seven knew that she had a good deal of this herself and it was inevitable for those born to the highest steps of the complex staircase that was Westerosi society – but she had never liked arrogance. And conscious, nurtured arrogance was something that she could not tolerate, this desire to put others down to elevate one's own self-worth even more. The feeling that her father could buy her everything and would buy her queenship – even less, yet Lady Cersei strutted around as if the crown already shone in her lovely golden curls. _Wait a little, little girl,_ Rhaelle was tempted to say _. Not so fast. My own father could not buy me everything and he was a king, not a butcher._ Besides, at about the third time the two of them met, Rhaelle started suspecting something that hardened her resolve. Cersei Lannister would not be Robert Baratheon's wife. It simply would not happen.

Meanwhile, the girl alternated between being a simpering maiden and a queen in all but name. She was not so stupid, after all. Trying to win the new King's grandmother was a clever move indeed, only she was going about it the entirely wrong way.

"Would you like me to fetch you a box of embers for your feet?" the girl asked, more eager to please than genuinely concerned. Rhaelle did not mind diplomacy but this far, she had accepted being wrapped in additional furs, having her tea reheated, and having a softer meal ordered on behalf of her teeth that were still planted firmly in her mouth, thankyouverymuch. The box of embers was the straw that would break… but the Lannister girl was already hurrying over to fetch it, so Rhaelle could not refuse without looking extremely rude.

"I'm sure my lady is thrilled," Rhaelle's goodsister said gravely. Rhaelle did not look at her because she knew she'd see a broad grin on a face turned awayso that Cersei Lannister could not see it.

In the intimacy of Rhaelle's own solar, the ghosts crept in. Steffon, grinning from ear to ear as his aunt or father relayed the stories of similar exchanges between his mother and the Laughing Storm; Ormund and Jocelyn barely stifling their laughter as their father glared at Rhaelle, buried under a mountain of furs and heating devices, with a plate of gruel in front of him because if he was as old and weary as he claimed, he needed care, obviously. It had all ended with Rhaelle ducking under the book with prayers that she had suggested to read to him and he had thrown at her. Very selective aging, his had been! Only when it had suited him!

In this case, it was clear what suited Lady Cersei. She wanted Robert's grandmother stashed away in her chambers with a number of old servants and even older cats! She wanted her well away of any influence… and grateful for being spared thusly!

Her long years of experience in tolerating whatnot helped her withstand the girl's chatter and simpering. She did not make the mistake of thinking it was good heart and vivaciousness, although Robert might take them for this. After all, he had been quite deluded about the Stark girl as well.

The Stark girl! If Rhaelle had been displeased at the prospect of having Lyanna Stark as lady of the stormslands, the prospect of thrusting Cersei Lannister on the entire realm was terrifying. At least the Stark girl's heart seemed to have been in the right place… when her own wants weren't concerned, at least. She had reminded Rhaelle of someone she had known and loved while Cersei only reminded her of people she still disliked and feared, both the dead and the living once. And there was this other thing to consider as well…

Cersei Lannister would not become Robert Baratheon's wife.

Somewhat to her surprise, Robert looked relieved when she mentioned her aversion to the idea. "Do you think so?" he asked. "Jon keeps extolling her virtues to me as if it matters."

Rhaelle actually laughed. Virtues? If only Jon Arryn knew! She was a Targaryen and she had not been so shocked but she would pay to see the man's face if he ever got to know.

Not that she would tell, of course. Not unless forced. And then, a familiar irritation overcame her. She looked across the table around which they broke their fast, and caught Stannis' eye. Like her, he was not one who cared to hear Robert's trust in the Arryn lord rubbed in his face.

"I thought you liked her," she said carefully. She had been relieved to see that he had somewhat recovered from the loss of what he perceived as the love of his life but she had been afraid that he'd want to have the most beautiful lady as Lyanna's replacement – and for all her antipathy, she could not lie and say that Cersei Lannister was not this.

Robert shrugged. "She's pleasing enough and yes, she's a beauty but it's tiring to constantly try to guess what she really thinks. All I can hear is the voice of a true lady and Tywin Lannister's words coming in it. I…" He hesitated. "She seems to think we owe her a crown for what her father did to this city."

"And this palace," Rhaelle said pointedly. She was not about to let him forget about the dead children and their mother, betrayed by everyone. Especially not to elevate the Lannister girl on a throne built on their bodies… but he looked pleased. So pleased to have her support for his instinctual rejection that he was even ready to let the chance of rant about Rhaegar Targaryen go. Rhaelle was truly astounded.

"I'll help you," she promised and he gave her a skeptical look.

"You? How?"

She only smiled. "You'll see."

She did not have to wait long. Just two days later, the Kingsguard standing in front of her door entered, clearly surprised, and his surprise grew when she waved him to the table as her goodsister rose and took her leave.

"It's just tea, Ser," Rhaelle said kindly when he hesitated. "I would not dream of deflecting you from your duty. Do take a seat."

He had little choice but occupy the chair across the table and sip from his cup. Rhaelle watched him without concealing her inspection. By the Mother, he was so young! Not as young as he looked when he was in his sister's company – she looked much older and more worldly – but he was just seventeen.

Seventeen and a Kingsguard.

Seventeen, and a Kingslayer.

Seventeen.

"Would you like to know what happened to the pots of wildfire?" she asked and he almost jumped a foot in the air. Then, he collected himself entirely but a moment too late.

"What wildfire?" he asked absent-mindedly.

"The one that would have killed us all if someone had lit it," Rhaelle replied. "I can only think of one man who could have had this placement ordered… and only seven who could have known, except for those directly involved."

Before her eyes, Jaime Lannister deflated and aged. When he looked at her, it was with all the weariness in the world. "They didn't," he said softly. "He ordered it after everyone had left. Everyone but me. His crutch," he added bitterly and Rhaelle wondered who had told him this, who had been so cruel as to rub salt in the wound. There were the written laws of the realm; there were the oaths of every night; there were the oaths of the Kingsguard; and finally, there was the human law. Basic humanity. It prevented one from pointing out that someone who lived on the edge of the blade was a mere pawn, a pledge for someone else's good behavior.

"Was he really going to burn the city and everyone in it?" Rhaelle asked and wondered why she had. She did not truly want to know.

"Yes."

She did not ask any further question. Sadness overwhelmed her for the true extent of the monster that charming Aerys had become. She was sad for this boy as well, this boy who had likely expected that the world would know what he had done without him telling it and be grateful. Only, the world did not work this way – and young Lannister's pride would never let him claim credit that was not voluntarily given to him. Better dead than humbled – Rhaelle had thought like this as well once, a long time ago.

It occurred to her that if Jaime had been a woman, she would have gladly seen Robert wed to him. But Jaime's sister – no. To make it worse, it seemed that Jaime had gotten all the brains meant for both. Cersei was only clever in one thing and in everything else, she was about as bright as a cart of bricks.

Well, Jaime was not a woman and there was no use of lamenting what would have been.

"It saddens me to hear it," she said sincerely, "for I loved my nephew once, and loved him well. He was the son of the brother and sister who I loved very much, as disappointed as I was in them."

He still looked thoughtful, still not understanding.

"I could never understand the attraction between brother and sister," Rhaelle said; now, he looked at her warily. "People said it was different for us Targaryens but I only ever saw the destruction it causes; if there was any viable way to leave the throne to someone else, instead of making my sister Shaera queen, my lord father would have taken it. Alas, there was no such way. It's so good for one not to be pressed by circumstances, do you not agree, Ser Jaime?"

He sipped from his tea again. His eyes were green slits of ice. "I suppose I do," he said.

"People can be so blind," Rhaelle went on. "Not seeing what was right before their eyes. I didn't see it in Jaehaerys and Shaera, of course, for I was a child then, but I've always thought I'd recognize it if I see it by chance."

"I admire your trust in your perceptiveness, my lady," he said. Rhaelle could see the fight in him, the urge to bolt from his seat, reach her and grab her by the throat before she could make any sound, choke his secret in her breast, along with her life…

"This was no concern of mine, of course," she said. "Until they made it a concern of the entire realm. That was what my parents were trying to prevent… because such things, disturbing a realm because of love that should not exist between brother and sister should never be allowed to happen, Ser Jaime, should they?"

He did not deign to answer. But he did not ask her what she was playing at either. So, he had some control, after all.

"Your sister will not become queen," Rhaelle said in a low, certain voice. "And when your father gets to know about it, you should not encourage him in any plans to force or cajole this into happening. Am I clear?"

He put his cup down. "Very clear, my lady. Is this all?"

"No," Rhaelle replied. "The story about my sister and brother. I didn't tell you the end. Their love ended some ten years into their marriage. They were both so young. At the time, they had thought they would love each other forever but life acknowledges no promises. At twenty five and twenty four, they were different people from who they had been when they eloped at fifteen and fourteen, respectively. The only reason they could preserve some bond and a great affection was that they were brother and sister long before they became something else. People are not meant to be anything to each other, Ser Jaime. The older one gets, the harder it's going to be if they lose the affection of their everything or worse, their own affection for this person."

He looked at her again. His mouth was set in a polite smile but in his eyes, Rhaelle could see the derision, the disdain for the old woman who knew nothing about this world and how extraordinary and one of a kind their devotion with his sister was…

"You may go," she said, feeling suddenly tired, both content and disgruntled because she had won and failed at once.

"What did you tell him?" Jocelyn asked when she came back. "He looked furious."

"I tried to help him," Rhaelle sighed. "But he didn't see it. And it doesn't matter. At the end, I did not succeed."

 **The End**


End file.
